


If the Spirit Moves You

by mermaiddrunk



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 05:50:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4127380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mermaiddrunk/pseuds/mermaiddrunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laura and Carmilla have a difference of opinion over musical genre, so Carmilla sets out to prove a point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If the Spirit Moves You

**Author's Note:**

> Set a little way into season two, under the assumption that our intrepid heroes are still fighting the good fight.
> 
> Thank you to the people who encourage me to write ridiculous porn.

Laura is tired.

The kind of tired that makes her bones feel heavy and her eyelids feel scratchy. She imagines her current routine of five hours sleep, snickerdoodles for breakfast, and snack cakes for lunch isn’t particularly helping the situation either. But between angry fish protesters and Latin omens written in blood and the general murder and mayhem of it all, there isn’t much time to think about the benefits of a balanced diet and sleep schedule. Of course, her dad would go nuts if he knew she wasn’t getting her mandatory eight hours. Then again, she imagines he might be a tad more concerned by the fact that she’s attending a school that seems intent on killing everyone.

Venturing onto campus just before dark wasn’t the smartest idea, she admits, but LaF had figured out where the Alchemy Club was holding its fortnightly meeting and they all decided that the direct approach was better than the Zetas’ idea of sending carrier pigeons to spy on them. 

“You know pigeons can’t talk, right?!” Danny had explained to a confused-looking Kirsch. “Even if they found the Alchemy dweebs, they wouldn’t be able to tell us what they saw.”

Kirsch had mulled this over for a second before replying with a thoughtful, “Huh.”

It’s after ten when Laura eventually makes it back to the apartment, excited about the prospect of a shower and a bed full of warm vampire girlfriend. Carmilla, who was scowling at some Akkadian manuscript before they had left, had sent her off with a distracted kiss and a “Don’t get yourself killed.”

Laura had texted her an hour before to say they were on their way back. She knows Carmilla worries, even if she’s loath to admit it. 

Their sleeping patterns haven’t changed all that much since they’d moved out of the dorm. Carmilla still sleeps until noon when she can and more than a few times, Laura’s woken up at three am to find her sprawled out on the big window seat in their bedroom, squinting at the pages of some or other obscure philosophy book. Sometimes, rarely, Laura will wake up and find Carmilla’s side of the bed empty and ruffled. When Carmilla comes back, her skin is cold and she smells like pine needles and dirt. Laura doesn’t ask about these times.

When she eventually makes it to their bedroom, Carmilla is sitting in the centre of the bed, cross-legged and surrounded by thin, yellowed paper, so old they look like they’d turn into dust if they got caught in the wind. She looks up as Laura enters, her mouth pulling into a slow, unwitting smile that seems reserved for these moments alone.

“Hey,” she slinks off the bed and saunters towards Laura. “You were gone a while.”

“Sorry.” Laura’s breath hitches a little when Carmilla reaches out and plucks a dead leaf from her hair.  Carmilla’s expression is a mixture of amusement and exasperation and Laura grimaces for effect. “Things got kind of intense. We ended up hiding in the Kali Centre during the brief plague of winged fire ants. Side note, remind me to invest in an umbrella.”

Carmilla runs her palms over Laura’s arms in a soothing motion. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

“No. I’m fine. A little itchy.” She wiggles her nose, remembering the swarm of insects. “We had to take the long way back since Perry still can’t walk past the VoS building without wigging out.”

If Laura is surprised when Carmilla asks, “How _is_ Pippi Longstocking?” she doesn’t show it.

“A little better. I think LaFontaine is more worried about Perry than Perry.”

Carmilla gives Laura a pointed look. “Funny how that works.”

Laura’s lips quirk up in a little smile. “Anyway, from what we were able to get from the Alchemy Club-” her eyes flick past Carmilla’s shoulder to the little teak dresser against the wall. “Hey, you fixed it!”

Carmilla follows her gaze and then shrugs. “Yeah, it just needed a wipe down. There was dust on the needle.”

Laura walks past her to the old record player they had discovered when they’d first moved in. She runs her finger over the varnished wooden base. “We had one in the attic when I was little. I guess it’s still there. Dad never played it though.” She gently touches the turntable, causing it to spin. “I think it was a wedding gift.”

Carmilla’s behind her then, her body warm and solid and Laura leans back, closing her eyes for just a second. “Too bad there aren’t any good records,” she says softly. Carmilla nudges her nose against the smooth skin behind Laura’s ear and Laura squirms away. “I’m all gross and sweaty.”

Laura feels rather than hears the soft rumble in Carmilla’s throat. “You’re delicious.”

She snorts in disbelief, but allows Carmilla to keep nuzzling, comforted by the low purr against her.

“They’re not all bad,” Carmilla murmurs and Laura is broken out of her reverie.

“What?”

“The records, some of them are okay.”

Laura, who had gone through them when they’d first arrived, extricates herself from Carmilla’s arms and kneels beside the dresser. “Whoever lived here before had really weird taste,” she pulls the box full of stacked vinyl records towards her.

Carmilla sits back on the bed with her palms splayed out behind her, watching Laura dig through the pile.

“Best of Gregorian Chants, Modern Pan Flute Ballads.” She scrunches up her face and Carmilla smiles.

“The Purple People Eater by Sheb Wooley, Canjun… opera?”

“That one is actually pretty good,” Carmilla interjects.

Laura turns it over and inspects the jacket before continuing her exploration. “Hunting Songs of the Mbuti, Ultimate Motown Hits-”

“Well, that’s something.”

Laura looks back at her, still holding the record. “You’re kidding?”

“What?”

“ _You_ like soul?”

“It has its charms.”

Laura looks at her sceptically. “The punk rock I get, even opera I get, but-” she glances at the track listing, “The Temptations?”

Carmilla shrugs her shoulder in a lazy move. “I spent a few months of 1974 in Detroit. Some of it rubbed off.”

Laura narrows her eyes, trying to imagine Carmilla in the seventies, all hair and eyeliner and the image is almost too bizarre to conjure up.

“Besides,” Carmilla continues off Laura’s incredulous expression. “It’s a fail proof seduction technique.”

Laura rolls her eyes now. “You’re saying you seduced girls with what… candle light and Motown?”

Carmilla wiggles her eyebrows in reply.

“Yeah right.”

“You don’t believe me?”

Carmilla leans further back and raises one eyebrow in a way that makes Laura’s pulse start to race but she manages to keep her voice relatively steady as she says, “Cheap seduction techniques may have worked on your heart-eyed, big-haired girls in the seventies, but there’s no way I’d fall for something so cheesy.”

“Soul is not cheesy…” Carmilla replies a little defensively and then her voice drops an octave. “It’s sexy.”

They hold each other’s’ gaze for a heartbeat or two. Laura’s itchy skin suddenly tingles for a reason that has nothing to do with winged fire ants. 

“Okay, Mata Hari,” Laura says eventually, this time the tremor in her voice is obvious and Carmilla smirks as though she’s won in some game neither of them know the rules to.

“I should take a bath before things start crawling out of my hair.”

Carmilla, smirk still affixed, says nothing as Laura gets up and makes her way to the bathroom, suddenly feeling a lot less tired than she did when she first got in.

______

There are two dead fire ants floating in the murky water when Laura emerges from the bathtub and she shudders at the general gross factor of it all, though she feels significantly less squicky once she’s washed her hair and changed into her soft, comfortable pjs.

She’s got her chin against her chest as she runs a towel through her wet hair and almost walks into the door. She smells the candles before she sees them. The smoky scent of burning wick inside wax.

Laura looks up in surprise, the tips of her hair drip down her neck as the towel hangs limply from her hand. The room is suffused with a warm orange glow and Laura walks in slowly, watching the flames bounce off the walls like tiny golden sprites.

“What is…”

Carmilla is kneeling in the centre of the bed, now devoid of the ancient papers foretelling their doom. She’s in her underwear and the tiny white t-shirt that she stole from who knows where that now masquerades as a pyjama top.

Her lips are pursed as though she’s trying not to smile, and Laura steps further into the room.

There’s a crackling sound that she thinks might be the candles at first, but then the first, dragging notes of a song begin to play and she realises that it’s the record player.

Laura lets out an uncontrollable giggle when Carmilla, still looking at her with those dark eyes, inky and intense in the candlelight, begins to lip synch along to what Laura thinks might be a song by Marvin Gaye.

“You’re ridiculous,” Laura laughs, coming closer to the bed.

Carmilla smiles widely for a second, before remembering herself and resumes her “singing”.

It’s moments like these, the strange and unexpected moments of silliness and inanity, the casual adoration in kisses and touches, the limitless complexities that make up Carmilla that has Laura almost dizzy with love. It’s quixotic and idealistic, but _this_ , Laura thinks, rolling her eyes for good measure while Carmilla motions her forward, is worth everything.

She walks to the bed, as commanded and tilts her head. There is something absurdly sexy (or maybe just absurd) about her girlfriend mouthing “Let’s get it on.” The candlelight dances off of Carmilla’s cheeks, off her hair and eyelashes and Laura nods, “Okay, okay I get it. You’re trying to prove a point.”

Once Laura’s close enough, Carmilla reaches down and links their fingers before tugging her nearer and her knees bump against the mattress. She’s close enough to feel Carmilla’s breath against her, cheek and she’s about to tell her to stop messing around so they can make out, when Carmilla sings, actually _sings_ the line,  “Since we got to be here, let’s live… _I love you_ ,” and Laura’s heart, which has already been skittering around in her ribcage for the past few minutes skips a beat that makes her all wobbly for a moment.

The funny thing is, they’ve never said it. Not out loud. Not in so many words. They’ve said, “I think you’re amazing” and “I’m doing this for you”. They’ve said, “Laura, no. If you have any more cookies, you’re going to go into a coma,” and “No shoes on the bed!” and a hundred other sentiments that should have added up to three little words. And yet… Laura wondered sometimes, if their inability to articulate this simple, obvious thing was a kind of self-preservation, waiting for other shoe to drop from a sky already raining spiders.

Laura's never thought she needed to hear it. Until now.

She knows Carmilla gets it too, because she’s stopped singing, because she’s looking at Laura with these big, expectant eyes. And Laura smiles. She smiles so widely that she feels like she’s about to explode.

Carmilla lifts her brow, seemingly satisfied that the message has come through loud and clear. She reaches up and twirls Laura’s wet hair around her finger. “I know you know what I’ve been dreaming of,” she sings under her breath, untangling her finger and trailing it down Laura’s chin, down her throat, which bobs as she swallows. Laura’s lowers her gaze, watching Carmilla’s finger go down, down, down until Carmilla cups her breast for a teasing moment, before swiping her thumb over Laura’s hard nipple which strains through the thin material of her top.  

She makes a sort of choking gulp and leans forward, suddenly desperate to feel Carmilla’s mouth against hers, but the nefarious creature she calls her girlfriend turns her head, avoiding the kiss as she continues her torture.

Behind her, the song has changed to some deep voiced crooner singing about how he _can’t get enough_ and Laura finds herself relating to this sentiment on a spiritual level.

She gasps when Carmilla cups her through her shorts and drags her middle finger towards her palm in an exaggerated come hither motion.

She manages a shaky, “Carm,” and Carmilla smirks before pulling at the elastic of both Laura’s shorts and underwear before slipping her hand inside.

She leans in so close, that their chests brush and Laura wonders if anyone has ever passed out from sexual frustration.

Carmilla’s voice is low and syrupy against her ear. “You know, for someone immune to _cheap seduction techniques_ , you sure are wet.” She brushes just the tip of her index finger against the hood of Laura’s clit and Laura’s eyes roll back as she juts her hips forward.

“You play, ugh…” Carmilla’s tongue flicks against Laura’s earlobe as her finger pushes in further, “... dirty.”

“Always.”

Accepting defeat, Laura motions Carmilla backwards and climbs on the bed. They kiss, facing each other, swaying a little as they try and find balance while their knees sink into the soft mattress.

The song has changed again, and Al Green (Laura knows this one) is suggesting they _Stay Together_.

She imagines hijacking a TARDIS and showing this image to her past self - the candles, the music, the breathless moan Carmilla makes every time Laura sucks on her tongue. First semester Laura would never have believed it.

The incredulity of it all makes her even hotter and, as if to test the validity of this situation, Laura twists Carmilla’s hair around her fingers and yanks down, exposing Carmilla’s neck to the flickering candlelight. Carmilla sucks in a surprised breath when Laura bites down and drags her teeth against where Carmilla’s pulse point should have been throbbing then licks her way up to the underside of her jaw. Carmilla’s blunt, black painted nails scrape down Laura’s arms until her hands settle on Laura’s waist.

“Fu-” she rasps out as Laura kisses a trail down her chest. “Fuck.”

Her thumbs rub circles against Laura’s hipbones and dip teasingly below the waistband of her shorts and Laura pushes Carmilla down with a little shove before straddling her, whimpering at the feel of her soaked underwear against Carmilla’s exposed stomach.

Carmilla's hands are still on her hips, fingers bruising the soft skin there as she says, “I thought I was the one piloting this seduction?”

Laura exhales a laugh. “Consider me seduced.”

Carmilla leans up on her elbows and they kiss until Laura forgets everything that isn’t the feeling of Carmilla’s body writhing beneath her. “Up,” Carmilla mumbles against her mouth and Laura obeys mindlessly, shifting up on her knees to allow Carmilla to tug down her shorts and underwear. Once Laura’s pulled off her top as well, Carmilla urges her backwards and she sinks down onto Carmilla’s fingers an inch at a time, feeling every nerve in her body break out in the Hallelujah chorus.

Laura throws her head back and shudders as her hips grind down in a fast, urgent pace that has her panting and gasping for breath.

She opens her eyes long enough to catch Carmilla staring up at her with a sort of wonder, her lower lip caught between her teeth, her pupils blown wide.

Laura clamps her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming out as Carmilla angles her palm up to press against Laura’s clit. She falls forward, her forearms on either side of Carmilla, her skin tickled by Carmilla’s hair, splayed out around her head.

“Don’t—stop,” she manages in a strained plea.

Carmilla’s fingers curl forward roughly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”  

Laura can feel the burn in her thigh muscles as she arches up, effectively trying to absorb Carmilla’s fingers. She’s knows she’s groaning out string of incoherent nonsense that might sound something like “OhmygodCarmyesdon’tsto-yesCarmohfuck” which, Carmilla will later assure her was completely inaudible and definitely not loud enough for everyone in the house to hear.

Right now, Laura’s deaf to everything but the blood pounding between her ears and the velvety sound of Carmilla saying, “Yes, Laura. Like that.”

The music stopped some time ago, and the air is heavy with the sound of breath and flesh and misplaced prayers.

When Carmilla sinks her teeth into Laura’s shoulder, she comes so hard, that the world goes black for a second or two. Her senses have mostly deserted her. She’s left with touch, acutely aware of the wild and thundering beat of her heart against her chest.

She’s also half-conscious of the fact that she’s completely slumped over Carmilla’s trembling body.

She raises herself up on a shaky arm and looks down at Carmilla in a sort of dazed euphoria and Carmilla raises her head up, to kiss Laura’s wet eyelashes and the salt from her cheeks. Laura finds Carmilla’s mouth, her lips swollen from biting down on them and they kiss while Carmilla’s hand snakes down her body. She touches herself while Laura rocks gently against her knuckles and Carmilla comes apart within seconds.  

Laura’s not sure how long they lie there. A few of the candles that might have been stars, begin to splutter and dim and she reminds herself to blow them out before they fall asleep. But she’s still spiralling somewhere through space, made corporeal only by Carmilla’s hand on her back, Carmilla’s breath, cool and sweet against the damp, salty skin of her neck.

Minutes, years, eons go by and Laura shifts slightly, causing Carmilla’s fingers to curl possessively around her hip.

“I take it back,” Laura whispers, closing her eyes and burying her face against the soft skin between Carmilla’s breasts. “Soul is totally hot.”

Beneath her, Carmilla laughs.


End file.
